


Dreaming

by AlphaKantSpell



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Quiet Moment, Tal Vashoth, Varric/Blackwall if you squint, short fic, whcich I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaKantSpell/pseuds/AlphaKantSpell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking shelter form a storm, Cullen asks his Vashoth Inquisitor some questions that have been on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No Beta Reader
> 
> I am aware the Tal Vashoth Inquisitor was not born into the Qun so this is a canon divergence, depicting the Qunari Inquisitor as I first imagined her.

“There appears to be something about your mind, Templar.” 

It isn’t a question but Cullen knows he’s being prompted to speak. His title is at her lips again, Templar. They all call him this but each speaker warps the word into something else entirely. Tethras speaks with sardonic sort of revere. Pentaghast addresses him formally as she does their army. Vivienne on the other hand, has a wary sort of distain about her that’s hidden like poison in tea. Inquisitor Haalima is different. He just doesn’t know why. 

“Curious,” he replies, watching the qunari as she scowls at their battle plans. The war isn’t going well. Cullen’s surprised by their small reprieve, hidden under a thick canopy in an Orlesian forest as they wait out a storm. Tadpole sized raindrops land on them from the tree branches, sticky from sap. Haalima is drenched. Her course mane of hair snakes across her face and shoulders. Cullen’s own hair is plastered to his forehead. Nearby, Warden Blackwall and Tethras shake off the worst of the rain. Tethras is laughing, Blackwall suggesting something as he shakes off his gauntlets. When Cullen returns to watch Haalima she’s staring at him. 

The Qunari had chosen the wrong individual to be their Arashock. Though, given the strict rules of the Qun, Haalima wouldn’t have been chosen regardless. 

“What about?”

Cullen has a weakness for women who pry for information. It isn’t something he enjoys. If he were to write a list of attractive traits, ‘pushy women who demanded to know what he thought’ would not be on it. But that never stopped him from going weak-kneed at Amell’s questions. It didn’t help him now, being stared at by a woman who has more presence than Meredith ever did. 

Maker preserve him. 

“You weren’t born Tal Vashoth, were you.” 

He prays he hasn’t hit another wall with her. Haalima doesn’t give information of herself often and it is common for the qunari to stop conversation all together if asked something she’d rather not reply to. He’s rewarded when Haalima nods and gestures for Cullen to sit with her on the roots she’s perched on. 

Cullen hastens to sit. Though cumbersome due to his armor, he’s relieved for a chance to rest after their march. Haalima dries the map as best she can before folding and tucking it away. 

“It is obvious?”

“Only because of your speech pattern. You speak in clipped phrases and it’s obvious that the Common tongue of Thedas is not your native one.” 

At that she laughs and he’s startled by the sound, like seeing a rare bird flushed into the air and out of sight. He’s glad he didn’t tell her it’s because he’s killed enough qunari to know the differences in the way a Par Vollen born holds themselves compared to Tal Vashoth. He hates to say Tal Vashoth have more personality but. . .qunari are a bit like arguing with a jagged rock. 

“You are correct. I was born Qunari. Stifling.” She shook out her shoulders and Cullen felt the weight of her words as easily as he could see the scars on her lips. They’d been sewn together during her years as a saarebas. Cullen had seen the way Qunari mages were treated by their kin. It was a remarkable thing that Merideth hadn’t resorted to such measures during the end of her reign. 

“It was in your Kirkwall that I became Tal Veshoth.”

“Oh?” Cullen hadn’t heard that before. Little was known about the Inquisitor before she returned from the Rift in the Vale. He’s surprised to hear of Kirkwall from her, to have another transplant from that dour place. Haalim nods again and gestures to Tethras. 

“We fought. His Champion killed my Arvaarad. Cleaved into his neck with an ax. I’ve asked the dwarf but he cannot remember it. Apparently they killed qunari regularly while searching the Wounded Coast for herbs.” 

Cullen winces at that. To his understanding, saarebas devote their lives to their arvaarad. He himself killed an arvaarad to have the saarebas commit suicide by flame. It was demanded by the Qun, they declared, skin boiling and bursting like abominations from his nightmares. By the sound of it, Haalima’s arvaarad had been killed simply because he was in Hawke’s way. He thinks of what might have happened if Haalima acted as she’d been instructed. He wonders what the Inqusition would be like without her – if there would even be such a thing. He thinks of the lives they’d saved, of himself, angry and lost after the fall of Kirkwall. 

Cullen he might be dead now if not for Haalima. 

He doesn’t know if he likes the answer in either way it falls. Life is so different now. His purpose has changed.  
“Anger consumed me, at first. Rage like a kind I’d never known.” It’s more words than she commonly uses and he waits patiently as he collects herself again. Blackwall is shaking his head at Tehtras as the dwarf tries to convince him to sit. It’s still raining but the mood is lighter where they are. Maybe it’s just that the clouds have shifted. Tethras smiles and Cullen wishes it was so easy for him. Haalima is still watching him. 

“Champion Hawke used a spell against me; Silence.” 

“A templar skill,” Cullen says. Although never formally trained, Hawke knew templar skills and technique. Varric lead him to believe she’d been taught by her father in an effort to protect the family, to act as a templar would need to. It was an enormous burden to load upon a child. He’d say it made sense with how diplomatically she handled the politics of Krikwall but any effort she made was tarnished by her apostate lover, the Anders who’d blown up the Chantry.  
“Yes. An effective one. So strong I hit my chin on the ground. Couldn’t move my hands to brace the fall.” She offers a parody of a smile. “She said: ‘Your Arvaarad is dead. You can yield or you can die but the choice is yours now.” He gaze sweeps from him for the first time in their conversation and it was like something physical had moved from him. She stares at the sky now, peaceful in a way she isn’t even in sleep. 

“It was the first choice I’ve made. Mine.”

He can see her now, stumbling back from Hawke, skin shuddering from her confusion. And then she left. Turned around and ran. Lioness pride coasts Haalima’s words like she wears it as a cloak. She’d chosen to live and her life is her own. 

Cullen finds himself smiling. It’s a shock. He never smiles, not anymore. Not since Kinlock Hold. He hasn’t even felt happy since Meradith but here he is, warm like ale is in his veins instead of blood. 

Haalima comes down from the sky and meets Cullen’s eyes again. It’s hard to gauge because it’s been so long, but he’s sure her smile is the same as his. 

“Who gave you your name?” 

He suspects the answer so it comes as no surprise when she says, “I did,” like a new recruit, eager to show off. What’s next surprises him. 

“It means Dreaming, which I will do as long as I have breath.” 

Without another word, Haalima goes to her feet and orders the other two to her side. Tethras is still laughing as Blackwall looks embarrassed but happy. This is what they needed, this quiet moment in the face of war. Cullen follows and Haalima smiles, more subdued than before but now that he knows what the full effect looks like he can easily spot it. 

Haalima has dreamed of an end to this war. Cullen intends to help her achieve it, not out of duty but by his own choice.


	2. Difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor refuses to wear a mask to an Orlesian ball.

She’s being difficult again.

“I will not wear _that_.”

She says the word with all the malice expected of finding a roach in one’s soup, not when presented a gold porcelain mask with delicate iridescent feathers jetting from the sides. Haalima stares at it like the mask is an offensive criminal who escaped execution. Vivienne matches her expression, though directed at their Inquisitor because she’s being childish again. Cullen never knew a Tal Vashoth could be so petulant but Haalima’s face is scrunched up in disgust and she’s a few moments from picking up the delicate mask and tossing it at a wall. The expression does little for the dotted scars along her lips, thick and irritated with the movement.

Then Cullen gets it. He’s ashamed it took him so long but he gets it.

Haalima was raised saarebas. Of course being demanded to wear a mask would trigger her.

“I doubt there is a soul in Thedas who does not know what our Inquisitor looks like,” he starts, drawing the attention of their group. “Surely is not necessary that she wear a mask in a hall full of people who already know her identity.”

Vivienne’s look is murderous and even Dorian is surprised. Cullen is usually in favor of proper ceremony like this. It’s worth it, though, when he sees the relief in Haalima. Her shoulders slack from their tight cringe and the affection in her fire-like eyes is so hot he can hardly stand it.  He feels scorched.

“Of course it’s _necessary_ ,” Vivenne retorts like he said something foul. “This is an Orlesian ball. Masks aren’t just a status symbol, it’s proper. Would you go to the Chantry in your small clothes? Wait,” she puts up an elegant hand to stop him. “Don’t answer that. You’re Fereldan. You probably have.”

Dorian tries to hide his laugh in a cough but he isn’t fooling anyone. Whatever embarrassment or anger Cullen feels at the slur is cast aside, leaving him irritated but level headed. Just like Vivienne doesn’t know their Inquisitor was saarebas, she doesn’t know he grew up in the Chantry.

He does however, take off his mask. Vivenne makes an expression like she’s been stricken. Carefully, he hands the mask to Dorian then goes to Haalima. He offers his hand to her. Grinning like she’s won, Haalima takes his arm and leads him to the ball.

She towers over him and her mane is threatening to burst from the braid Vivenne it in and she’s wearing her armor, not a dress, but she’s never been more beautiful than that moment, smiling at him the way she is.

“Thank you, Templar Cullen.” Her words are stiff as her spine but her eyes are still as heated as before. Cullen feels flushed at her gaze, and his arm is almost limp where he’s linked with her.

“Think nothing of it, Inquisitor Haalima.”

He looks to her as they enter the ball, ignoring the gasps and insulted stares from other guests.

“If I may be so bold, the mask would have detracted the shade of your eyes.”

She kisses him. A surprised ‘oh’ is exhaled from him to her lips and Cullen can feel the scars there as easily as he can feel the intensity of her molten gold eyes. The kiss is over before he fully understands what happened, lips smacking for more, heart off kilter as Iron Bull’s singing and Haalima smiles at him like they shared a secret, even though she kissed him in front of the entire ball.

She’s being entirely too difficult.


End file.
